


The Pact Reforged

by Doublehex



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 23:24:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doublehex/pseuds/Doublehex
Summary: In the Dance of the Dragons, a Targaryen princess was promised to a Stark lord.Some promises are not so easily forgotten, even when it involves a Stark king and a Targaryen queen.





	The Pact Reforged

As Daenerys sat in the cold halls of Dragonstone, she thought the candle flames were a curious thing. She could not say why she was focused on them, for such a long time. But focused she was. She was certainly drawn to the small red shadows that they drew, across the dark walls of the keep. They were blades, fiery and thin. But as she thought on that, she considered that was not the reason she was so drawn to them.

Her family had done the same. That was the answer. All of her family that had ever resided within Dragonstone, kings and princesses, distant cousins and nieces, all had watched the candles in the halls. Not the same candles, of course. No wax in all of history could hold up that well. But they saw flames flicker and burn, in the same room, perhaps even sitting in the same chair, as Daenerys was leaning in now.

_Home_. No word was ever as sweet in her mind.

“Majesty?” The title forced her to blink a few times. “Majesty,” Tyrion Lannister spoke again, with a more stern tone in his voice. “I trust you were paying attention.”

“She was.” Rhaella Targaryen gave a small flicker of a smile. “You should know by now, Lord Tyrion, that your queen is always listening.”

Daenerys turned to face them. Lord Tyrion was sitting at the other end of the table, carved from a black stone, the edges rough and crooked. Her mother was not far behind. A few months before, Dany had never seen her mother dressed in black and crimson. It was always the bright colors of Essos – gold and blue and indigo. But the first time she showed her mother that gown – the first of many, Dany had promised – the swell of pride in her mother’s eyes almost made Dany cry.

Now a day did not pass when Rhaella Targaryen, wife to a king, and mother to a queen, did not wear the black and red folds.

“Snow,” Daenerys said. “You were speaking of this bastard of Eddard Stark.”

Mother leaned forward onto the table, her fingers crossed with each other. “Snow no longer. He is Jon Stark from now on. His brother’s will made him so.”

“Quite convenient for us,” Tyrion Lannister said with a rasp. “His actions as the King in the North have been a great asset to us.”

Dany had to admit, the journey of Jon Stark sounded almost as mythical as her own. After the murder of his brother at the Twins, Jon became the King Trapped in the South. He must have had more wits than his brother, for he saw that remaining south of Moat Cailin was a death sentence. He somehow managed to raid Maidenpool, steal twenty ships, sail for Braavos, negotiate a loan from the Iron Bank to the value of twenty thousand dragons, hire half a dozen companies, and reclaim the North.

All within the span of time that Dany was forcing the Old Blood of Volantis to bow before her and put an end to slavery forever.

“We almost slammed right into him,” Mother said. “If the Volantenes were a little more complacent, our two fleets would have met on the Narrow Sea.”

Tyrion Lannister chewed on his lip. “Saved us some time. Could negotiate everything on the deck of the _Balerion Returned_. Instead we have to trade ravens.”

“There is a king in Winterfell,” the Queen Mother said, “his name is Jon Stark. What do you know of him, Lord Lannister?”

He hummed. “A bit. He was a solemn bastard when I met him in Winterfell. I was so certain he would go for the Wall. Some vain glorious notion of finding a place in the world.”

“Good thing he didn’t,” Mother said. “If he dedicated himself to the Wall, he would be freezing, while my Daenerys would be without a suitor.”

Dany narrowed her eyes. “Your Queen hasn’t agreed to any marriage yet. And neither has this King in the North.”

Mother smiled. “Not yet.” _You sound far too confident on that count, Mother._ “What changed his mind?”

“His aunt,” Tyrion said. “Lyanna Stark. A name we are all familiar with.” Dany threw a quick glance at Mother, before focusing on Lord Lannister. “I heard quite the scuffle between Lady Lyanna and Lady Catelyn.”

“She wanted the boy gone,” Mother said. There was a knowing tone to her voice. She would know how a bastard would be treated back home. For what little Dany knew of the realm before the Rebellion, she had never heard of her father bringing one of his bastards to court.

Tyrion gave a stiff nod. “I wonder if it was Lyanna Stark that came up with the notion to send Jon to White Harbor. He was squired to one of Lord Manderly’s sons.”

“A knight and a king,” Dany said. “He has almost as many titles as I do.”

Tyrion shrugged. “Have no fear on that count, Your Grace. He was not knighted before the war broke out.”

“Besides,” Mother began, “his titles don’t matter. His crown does. Between his Northmen and the mercenaries under his pay, he has almost thirty thousand swords. We need those swords.”

“We have dragons, Mother.”

“One dragon. Rhaegal and Viserion are without a rider, and that means they cannot be relied upon. A dragon that has not bonded with a Targaryen is little more than a beast. And do not forget what befelled Rhaenys and Meraxes.”

“We are far from Dorne.”

“Dorne is not the only place that has scorpions.” Mother turned towards Tyrion. “What can you say of Lyanna Stark?”

Lannister gave a shrug. “Apologies, but I assumed you would have a better say on that count.”

“All I have are stories. She ran off with my son. My son stole her. I know that he placed a crown of winter roses on her head. I hear that she was a beauty.”

Tyrion drank from his cup. His lips took on a brighter shade. “That she was. Ten and five years after and she drew my eyes.”

Dany’s fingers tapped at her chair. “Lord Tyrion.”

He gave a shrug. “I was simply supporting your mother’s claim, Majesty. Know that I am focused entirely on the matter at hand.”

“Tell me Lord Tyrion, what _is_ the matter that we are discussing? I took back my ancestral home to begin an invasion. Not to suggest marriage proposals.”

Mother’s eye took on a sharp glint. They always did whenever a scolding was in order. “Daenerys. In this case, marriage and conquest are one in the same. The choice is yours at the end. You are Queen, and we are your advisors and servants.”

_You are more than that. By far. I would be half the queen without you, Mother._ “Lord Tyrion, what do you know of Jon Stark the man? We know plenty of his exploits as king.”

He scratched at his beard. “That was a long time ago, Your Grace. People change in three years. Case in point: Jon Snow the bastard is now Jon Stark the King in the North.”

_Case in point: the scared Targaryen girl to the Mother of Dragons._ “I would still hear it.”

He let out a sigh. Then he took a drink. “Fine,” he said with a licking of his lips. “He seemed like a good lad. Cared for his little sister, Arya. Gods know what happened to her. Was very quick to defend his Lady Aunt.”

Mother’s violet eyes narrowed. “Were they close?”

“Oh, I would say so. I imagine she is the boy’s greatest champion. She was crucial to his success with the Iron Bank. Or, that’s what they say.”

That gave Dany pause. “I am beginning to become more worried about Lyanna Stark than the King in Winterfell.”

Mother smiled. “I am surprised you haven’t already. You should know by now, daughter, that mothers are a fierce thing.”

 

*

 

A draft air seeped in through the walls. The scent of timber rose in the air. Off in the distance, Jon could hear the sound of lumber workers and stone smiths. The sharp strike of chisel against stone, overseers giving commands, the whining of horses, wooden wheels grinding into the soft ground. A sharp shrike of the cold wind whistles through the air.

It was Winterfell. Through the gaps in the broken stone wall, Jon could see the visage of Wintertown, and further off the snow sprinkled hills. Pine trees that were more white than green rose up in the distance. A familiar chill rose up in the wind. _Home._ The word had seemed so strange. When was the last time it meant anything? Jon had sworn to his lords that they would be going home. “To go home we need the Iron Bank.”

And now, he walked through the stone halls of Winterfell. Despite what the bastard of the Dreadfort did, it was familiar. The wooden planks had collapsed in many places, much of the masonry broken, gaps in the walls and the training yard was a ruin. But it was Winterfell. Beneath the scent of ash and smolder, Jon could smell the pine trees over the mountains, and the harsh winter air.

It was Winterfell. He could almost hear them at time; Robb in the yard, Lady Catelyn yelling after Bran as he climbed the castle walls, Sansa humming softly as she walked the grounds and Arya running between them all, the naïve whines of Rickon. On some days, it was everything in his power to keep himself from Robb and Arya’s chambers. On a few of those days, his fingers would just grace the edge of the knob, and only a sudden pulse of strength would pull him away. And on other days, he was too weak to stay away. He would lose himself in the memories then. _If I were a stronger man, a better brother, they would all be here._ The words would entangle themselves in his mind, and refuse to let go.

Winterfell was filled with ghosts and specters, and they all seemed to haunt Jon. Aunt Lyanna as well; his men had often reported that Lyanna Stark was found in the crypts. “Leave her be,” he had commanded of then. Watch, do not disturb, was his law.

Jon fingered the letter in his hand. The parchment was worn, but the ink was clear, and the crimson wax seal made no mistaking who sent it. Aunt had insisted on the exchange. “We shall need allies,” she had said once the Dreadfort was put to the torch. “The Riverlands cannot be abandoned. They were your brother’s people.”

Jon had thought how much easier everything would be if he had a dragon or two. Why bargain with the Braavosi, when he could just send a dragon upon the Twins? “She wants to talk.”

Aunt Lyanna sat in a chair. Etched into the wood was the spiraling howl of a wolf, crystal air escaping from its maw. There was a fierce glint in Aunt’s eye. “More than talk. Remember, this is a proposition of marriage. From one queen to a king. Talk is not going to be the last thing you end up doing.”

Jon felt a blush come to his cheeks. _I am king, and I still act half a boy._ “That comes later, Aunt. It may not even come at all. These discussions may fall to ruin.”

“Pray that they don’t. We may have dragons to worry about.”

Jon thumbed the parchment. “We already do. This Aegon Targaryen and his Golden Company are going to work across the Stormlands. Why don’t we align ourselves with them?”

“Because that one is no Targaryen. Far too convenient. Your…father saw the bloody ruins of Rhaegar’s children.” Aunt Lyanna shifted in her seat. “Trust me on this, Jon.”

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. So what is he then, a Blackfyre?” Aunt gave a shrug. “They were killed off during the last of their rebellions.”

“What is supposed to have happened, and what has happened, are not the same.” She paused. “Such as Robb being king, and alive, and well. That should be how things are now. But they’re not.”

For a moment, all Jon could see were Robb’s crimson hair, and his bright smile. “I am here instead.”

“You will be everything Robb was.” Jon felt her assuring hands on his shoulder. “And more, if you can manage to marry this dragon queen.”

Jon frowned. “We know nothing about her except stories.”

“Then weave the stories, and we can cut to the truth.”

Jon began to pace. The wood groaned beneath the weight of his boots. “She has dragons. Too many sightings for them to be lies. She used them on Volantis.”

“That should be reason enough for the marriage.”

He shook his head. “No. Because then we have tales of what happened on the Dothraki Sea. They say she killed her brother. Because she wanted to be queen instead. Didn’t want to be trapped with the horse lords.”

“Maybe.” Aunt didn’t sound convinced.

Jon licked his lips. “Or, perhaps, she was innocent in his death. Why would he be among the Dohraki in the first place? Everyone knows that they are savages.”

“The better question is, why would her mother allow it? I would never…” She sighed. “Forget the Dothraki. What have we heard about the events in Slaver’s Bay?”

“She turned her dragons on the masters of Astapor. I heard there was an agreement, for Unsullied. But instead of trading a dragon, she killed them.”

Aunt Lyanna raised her head. “And does the King in the North approve of that?”

“Killing slavers? Of course I do. Slavery is an abomination, and any contract that would trade men like stock meat is void on that principle alone. I want to say she was entirely in the right to do what she did.”

“Then what is stopping you?”

“Because she could be wise and just, or mad. Did she do it out of a sense of justice, or because she wanted an army for no cost at all?”

Aunt Lyanna fixed her stare on him. “If she was the Mad King’s daughter, why then march on Meereen? Rule from Meereen, stabilize Meereen, eradicate the slave trade? No, Jon, I do not think what happened in Astpaor was due to greed.”

Jon considered that. “If not the Mad King’s daughter, than what is she? Rhaegar’s sister?” That gave Lyanna Stark some pause. “Aunt, I should not have mentioned him. Forgive me.”

“No,” she said quickly. “She is not the daughter of the Mad King, nor is she Rhaegar’s sister. Rhaella Targaryen is her mother, and that one was always said to remember her duties. And beyond all else, survived her husband.”

“So that’s what they are then? Survivors?”

His aunt shrugs. “We have all made it this far. We are all survivors, and from one survivor to another, we need to take her seriously.”

Jon nodded. “But not on her terms. She may stylize herself as a queen, but I _am_ king. The strength of the North, my authority, it has to be displayed.”

“But not too much,” Aunt cautioned, “or else she would reject it all together.”

“Targaryen pride.” It seemed an impossible scale to balance. Anywhere in the North and the Queen of Dragons could see it as a trap. Going to Dragonstone would suggest that the Northern king was below a Southern aspirant. What could appease both? It reminded him of half a year’s past, when he was trapped in the south. Enemies were everywhere, and his allies were starving and afraid. He had found his solace across the Narrow Sea. “The waters,” Jon said. He quickly turned to face his aunt. “Tell Daenerys Targaryen to meet us on the Narrow Sea. We will negotiate on the _Eddard’s Honor._ It is not Winterfell—“

“But it is _of_ Winterfell.” She smiled. “It shows your strength, but you are not flaunting it. If she rejects that, then that tells us everything we need to know.”

Jon looked out the window. “How quickly can a raven reach Dragonstone?”

Lyanna Stark considered that. “Assuming no archer from the Golden Company shot it down—“

“Storms End is too south for that.” There was confidence in his voice.

“A few days?” she offered. Jon nodded in approval. “I will speak to the Maester. And you need to speak with Captain Beren. My brother’s honor needs to be manned and ready as soon as we know.”

 

*

 

The _Eddard’s Honor_ was a reasonable enough galley. Dany could count fifteen oars on either side of the bow, and two great sails. The teal and white sigil of Manderly was painted across the silk. There was no other galley, cog or man-o-war. Jon Stark’s ship was alone in the Narrow Sea. He was waiting for her.

“A poor trap if I ever saw one.” Dany had yet to see Lannister take a sip of any wine. That was curious. “Then again, I imagine the King in the North would be a poor trap maker.”

“Do you believe that?” Mother asked. “Truly?”

Tyrion Lannister managed a smirk. “No. Tales of the Northmen ravaging past Moat Cailin on the Riverlands are as old as Casterly Rock. He wants you there on his terms, Your Grace. Not that I blame him. He is not begging at your feet.”

“He thinks himself equal to me.”

Tyrion Lannister turned to face her. The cool wind of the sea was blowing his tumbled hair. “Your Grace, in many respects he already is. Both you and he came from much less a position than you are now. You have three dragons, but you ride only Drogon. He has an army of thirty thousand swords.”

Dany felt another wind, a stronger one, pull at her hair. It reminded her of all the years she had spent on the Narrow Sea. The salty winds, the sour smell, groans of the ships – all of it was familiar to her. She would say that she was raised in Essos, but the Narrow Sea had just as much a hand in it as the Free Cities. Dany had loved being on the sea. In all the Free Cities, Dany could only move where she was allowed. But when she would look over the rails of the ship, the waves would stretch out for leagues upon leagues. Dany had loved to watch the seamen at work; so much so that she had told Mother that she had wanted to be like them. “You are not like them,” Mother had said. “You are dragon. Do _not_ forget that.” And for all that has happened since then, Mother has always made sure Dany never forgot who she was.

Not as they went from one archon to another, feeling the refusal of all of Mother’s marriage proposals. Not as they felt hunger tear at her guts, not as they realized just how much Viserys was Father’s son, not when they were all but forced to accept the betrothal of Khal Drogo. Always a dragon. Always.

“Sellswords,” Mother insisted. Dany was pulled from the dream, back into the waking world. “He has some loyal Northmen amongst them, but the mercenaries overwhelm them.”

“Do not forget the Iron Bank.” Lord Tyrion’s fingers were clasped behind him. “Their name has more than a certain weight behind it, If the sellswords deserted Jon Stark before any hope of investment was lost…well, let’s just say the Braavosi do not forget a slight.”

She could not turn back. Agreements were reached. “Lord Tyrion is right. Jon Stark sees himself as my equal. Let him play that game. Tell me, how many men could we get away with?”

“Only a few,” Mother said. “Four guards.”

“Ceremonial,” Tyrion Lannister nodded. “You are not threatening him, Your Grace. A display of power.”

_Arriving on the back of Drogon would have been a display of power. And a threat of war._ The thought was amusing, but little else. “Then let’s not keep King Stark waiting.”

Within the hour, Daenerys Targaryen was on a boat, being rowed towards the _Eddard’s Honor._ Curious, how it seemed so much more immense when she wasn’t on the deck of the _Naeserys Tulamris._ She had seen larger ships in Braavos, but that city was called the Admiralty for good reason.

Tyrion had pleaded with her to stay behind on Dragonstone. She had more than enough representatives to speak in her name. A queen sends other on her behalf. And indeed, he was right in that. But she was not just any queen. She was a _Targaryen_ queen, and that meant something to the North. They would not forget what happened to Rickard Stark and his son.

For once, some humility would go a long way.

There was some part of her that wished she had brought Drogon. It had only been a few days since they had sailed from Dragonstone, but the longing was there. On the back of Drogon, she felt whole. She was complete. There were no doubts, no apprehensions, no second thoughts. The world was simpler from the back of a dragon.

A rope ladder unraveled over the edge of the _Eddards’s Honor._ Right before Daenerys made her ascent, she noticed how brightly the letters were painted on the galley’s edge. Jon Stark would not let the world forget what has happened to his family.

_Do not slip_ , Dany prayed. It would be poor form for her to dangle from a rope ladder. First impressions could make or end this marriage. Some seafaring god must have heard her, because her fears did not come to pass.

A sailor helped her over the rail, his rough and worn hands being as delicate as he could be. But Daenerys had spent half of her life on ships far less accommodating. In truth, it would have been easier if the man would do nothing…but that wouldn’t be proper, now would it? She smiled and thanked him softly. “My thanks,” she said, just low enough for the man to hear. He wasn’t expecting that. Dany prided herself on how she made a seaworn man twice her age blush with just a few words.

If only the King-in-the-North could be so easily swayed.

Dany rubbed out the itches of her palms. A small group of men were on the dock, dressed in what could only be assumed as Northern attire. The decorative fur around the collar, thick coats, leather boots that went far past the ankle, surcoats woven from thick leather…a most uncomfortable attire, if Dany was to be kind. Downright brutal in the weather, if she were to be honest.

“Majesty.” A knight with a thick belly and a walrus mustache stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back. He did not wobble on the ship. Dany had seen many fat men before, and none of them walked with as much confidence as this knight. She wondered if it was a Northern style of war. “Welcome to the _Eddard’s Honor_. I hope you had a fair voyage?”

She heard Tyrion step behind her. “Wylis Manderly,” he said in a low tone. “His father, Lord Wyman, is one of Stark’s most fervent supporters.”

Dany smiled. “The voyage was pleasant, Ser Wylis.”

She heard Mother’s soft groans behind her as one of the sailors helped her up. She let out a few laborious breaths. “I do not see King Stark among you.”

“His Grace is awaiting your please in his cabin,” a woman spoke. She stepped forward between some of the men. There were some wrinkles in her face, and there was a longness to her features, but her hair was as dark as the night sky. Her eyes were like iron.

“Lady Lyanna,” Mother said in a stiff tone. Her eyes were narrowed on the aunt of the Northern king.

Daenerys could feel everyone’s gaze turn towards Stark. She smiled and gave a slight bow of her head. “Your Majesty.” She turned to look at Dany, and for a moment, everything came to a still. Daenerys learned what it was like to be judge with just a glance, to have to see the world behind a man’s words in a single moment. Because a man would only see in a woman that’s he was a woman, fair of face and beautiful, soft and caring, not a threat, and oh so easily swayed with words. As did Mother, and perhaps, Daenerys thought with growing certainty, so did Lyanna Stark.

She wondered what this eldest daughter of House Stark saw in the youngest of House Targaryen.

“Tell me,” Lady Lyanna asked, “would you care for some iced lobster?”

 

*

 

The room was filled with the sound of cracked lobster, of the scraping of forks against bowls of butter, but none of it was half as loud as the thundering of Lyanna’s heart. All the years of carefully guarding her secret, of keeping Jon safe, of ensuring none would suspect just whose son he truly was, it could all come breaking apart at this very moment.

Because of one woman named Rhaella Targaryen. None living knew Rhaegar as intimately as his own mother. Well, besides Lyanna herself. Rhaegar had made Jon within her. That was a memory that could never be removed from her mind. It would be safer if she could. But would Rhaella look on Jon, and see her grandson? Would she know that she had advised her daughter to wed her nephew?

The Queen Mother was a woman of few words. Or, perhaps, just in her presence. Lyanna did not blame her for that. She had become tight lipped herself ever since the Targaryens had boarded the _Eddard’s Honor._ For years she was certain she knew what to say to keep anyone from suspecting the truth. But she had never spoken in the presence of Rhaegar’s mother before this moment.

Lyanna would risk nothing.

The dining table was long enough to fit about a dozen eaters, which was just enough for both the King and Queen and their advisors. Jon and Daenerys were seated on the opposite ends. To Jon’s right was Ser Wylis, Lord Umber, Lord Robett Glover, and Brandon Tallhart, who acted as a steward of sorts to his cousin Eddara, who was only two-and-ten. Daenerys Targaryen’s party was much smaller in comparison. It was just herself, her mother and Tyrion Lannister. Lyanna found that curious. Daenerys would have no lack of supporters from Essos. A Dothraki khalasar was behind her, as were multiple companies of Essosi sellswords, and the zealous legions of the Red Chorus, the military of the Red Faith.

Daenerys had left all of her Essosi influence behind when she came to deal with the Westerosi. _This stinks of Lannister._ She eyed Tyrion Lannister for a moment. He noticed, and subtly raised a half-filled glass in acknowledgement.

“You speak of marriage,” muttered Lord Umber, “but this reeks of slavery. My son died at the Red Wedding. He died for his king. He didn’t die to place a Stark beneath the wings of a dragon.”

Lyanna did not miss the flicker of fury across the eyes of mother and daughter. She had experienced that more than once in her lifetime. Daenerys sipped from her goblet of wine. Rhaella managed to force a smile. “Your king would not be a slave. My daughter fought to end slavery in Essos. Something you should keep in mind, Lord Umber, should this false Aegon come demanding that you bend the knee.”

The Greatjon was about to sputter something out. Lyanna spoke first. “Lord Jon understands, and I am sure admires, how you campaigned to end that horrible practice. But we all fought and bled to put a Stark back as the King in the North. My nephew will bow down to no one.”

“King Jon will be above all of the other lords in the realm.”

“As consort,” said Lord Robett, “not as king.”

Tyrion Lannister rubbed the droplets of wine away from his lips. “That is just a title, my lords. Your Grace, I am sure you understand—“

“I understand well enough.” In that moment, Lyanna almost heard Ned. She almost heard Bran. She almost heard her father. She looked to her son, with his fingers locked within each other, his grey eyes looking over the room. He was focused on Daenerys Targaryen. And she was focused on him. “I understand that before Daenerys Targaryen, her house was nothing but three exiles, fleeing from one city to the next. Everyone that would be the end of the Targaryens as a house of influence and respect. They would fade into obscurity. That is no longer the case. You have fought to claim back what was yours. But I am not so different.” Jon paused as he reached for a goblet of wine. “Whatever the terms of our marriage, if it ever happens, it will never involve me giving up my crown.”

“We cannot have a king and queen,” Lord Tyrion said. “Are you asking Her Grace to give up that which you are not?”

“If that is the case,” Rhaella said, “then what else do we have to discuss?”

Lyanna could feel it all tearing apart. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but that does not make them wise. The crown makes them proud. The people that placed the crown on their head fills them with doubt. They placed the crown on her Jon’s head…and just as easily could they tear it away. The memories of Robb tore at her son.

Robb would never accept such an offer, and neither could her boy.

“I am not willing to give up,” Daenerys Targaryen said. “You invited me to the same vessel that bore your father’s name because you want this. I accepted the invitation because I also want this. What can be done?”

“I cannot be beneath you,” Jon said.

“And I shall not be beneath a husband. Not after everything I had fought for.”

Her son was prideful, and Daenerys had every reason to be. The world said that a bastard was full of deceit and could not be trusted, and that a woman had no place on a throne. She was too weak, too soft. None would say that if they ever had to bear a child into the world. “A man and a woman cannot rule together,” Father had said to her once. “You will learn that someday. For your sake, I hope it is before you marry Lord Robert.”

He was wrong on that count. Lyanna never married Robert Baratheon.

Lyanna nearly choked on her wine as she came to another realization. What if he was wrong about the other count? These two souls, considered without worth by the world, now ruled as king and queen. Who are they to follow the laws of an unjust world?

“Nephew,” Lyanna said, “you need not give up your crown if you wed Daenerys. And Queen, if you should take my nephew as your husband, you need not bow before him.”

She remembered Tyrion Lannister as a clever man, but this seemed too radical of a concept even for him to understand. “Lady Lyanna, I don’t think we follow.”

_Then I shall clarify._ “Rule together, as king and queen. Rule as equals, where one does not submit to the other.”

The Greatjon huffed. “Forgive me Lady Lyanna, but that is nonsense. Two cannot rule. What will they do about…disputes?”

“I suppose, Lord Umber, they would settle disputes the same way any other married couple would.”

Lyanna did not miss Daenerys Targaryen’s bemused chuckle. “I do think that would solve the greatest of our apprehensions.”

Her mother was not so convinced. “Have you seen the Iron Throne, Lady Lyanna? It is not a seat designed for two. Only one can rule from it.”

“At a time,” said Tyrion Lannister. “But not forever. It’s a symbol, not a declaration of law. The king and queen could easily split their times between it. It is a most uncomfortable seat. I am certain they would relish what opportunity they have to not sit upon it.”

Jon rested back in his chair. His fingers felt the grove of the chair arms, carved in the likeness of growling wolves. _He is a wolf, not a dragon. He is Eddard’s boy, not Rhaegar’s._ Rhaegar was a man that Lyanna still struggled to decipher. He held all the power, and yet he admired her strengths. “Visenya held a sword. I do not agree with your lord father. A woman is no less capable in the art of killing.” He wanted to make a better world, but he still rode out against her brother to support his mad father.

He said he loved her, but he kept her locked up in a tower.

Jon was not him. Lyanna only saw Rhaegar because she knew the truth. None other could see it. Not even Rhaegar’s mother.

“Queen Daenerys, what say you of this compromise?”

She took only a moment to consider. “I approve.” There was a flash of uneasiness from her mother, but Daenerys did not seem to share any such sentiments. “I see no reason not to. Unless, some of your lords have reason to object?”

All eyes turned towards the Greatjon.

Lord Umber shook his goblet, feeling the weight of the wine, and drained it empty.

“Well then.” Daenerys folded her fingers together. “Let’s talk about this imposter who claims he is my nephew.”

 


End file.
